Page 34 of Daughter of Genoa
‘Yes. I think… I think you probably should.’ He was still looking at me – I was very aware of my flushed, tear-stained face, my nose that was perilously close to running. I almost reached for the folded handkerchief in his breast pocket, and then caught myself just in time. ‘May I…?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘What else am I for?’ He shifted his grip and, resettling me in the crook of his arm, took out the silk square and handed it to me. I dabbed at my face and tried to breathe slowly, to calm the nervous energy that was bubbling up inside me.
‘If we’re going to use our real names…’ I hesitated. ‘I mean to say, if I can call you by yours…’
‘I should say so.’
‘Well, then.’ I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see his reaction. I studied the diagonal stripe of his tie: dark green, lighter green, over and over. ‘If we are, then perhaps we ought to go somewhere private.’
‘Private,’ he repeated. ‘Private like the parlour?’
‘Like the parlour, yes. Or my room.’ I was blushing fiercely now. As if I weren’t thirty years old, and a widow; as if I’d never been with a man before. Perhaps it was simply that I hadn’t been withhim. ‘We would be quite private there.’
‘Yes, we would.’ He seemed to be considering it.Maybe I’ve embarrassed myself, I thought.Maybe he’s working out a diplomatic way to let me down. I stood there in his embrace, tucked against his shoulder, and fought the urge to flee.
‘I want to take up your invitation,’ he said, and there was a new tone in his voice: something low and serious that made me thrill with hope. ‘I do. It’s just that I’m not sure when Silvia’s supposed to be back.’
I’d forgotten about Silvia. I’d forgotten about everything but him. ‘She’s gone out?’ I asked. ‘Do you know where?’
‘A meeting of some kind, Bernardo said. Church council? Youth group? One of those.’
‘Oh,good,’ I said, without thinking. ‘Those go on for ages. But what does Bernardo think you’re doing up here?’ I forged on. I was blushing all over again. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘As far as he’s concerned, we’re stamping forms. I asked if he wanted to come up and keep an eye on us, and he looked very uncomfortable and said that there was no need for that. Which was a relief, I must confess. But I don’t want you to think that I presumed…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I hoped to see you, of course. But you could have given me a brisk handshake and told me to go, or refused to have anything to do with me at all, and I’d have gone like a lamb. I still can, if you like. Or we can sit in the parlour, ten feet apart with the door open, and be terribly respectable. We can drink tea in the kitchen and play with the cat, and I shall be as happy as anything if that’s what you want.’
He was looking down at me: tender, worried. I knew then that I was lost.
‘I don’t want to sit in the parlour,’ I said. ‘Truly I don’t. I don’t want to sit in the kitchen and drink tea, either. I don’t want to send you away, and I certainly don’t want to be respectable. I can assure you of that.’
He broke into a wide, irresistible grin. ‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘Lead on.’
*
Once we were inside and I’d closed the door behind us, my courage faltered. I was suddenly very conscious that I hadn’t even kissed another man since Stefano died. I’d thought about it, of course. I’d thought about kissing Teglio often – thought, dreamed, fantasised – but now he was here in my bedroom, standing close to me, it was all intimidatingly real.
‘All right there?’ he asked.
I forced down my nerves and smiled at him the best I could. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I wondered if we might not be feeling the same sort of thing.’ He smiled gently back at me. ‘How long have you been widowed, if it’s not too painful a question?’
‘Five years,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Two, for me.’
I knew he was a widower; he’d said as much the first time we spoke. But it was still a shock. ‘That’s very new,’ I said.
‘Yes, it is. It feels new, sometimes. And yet… You know, I’m not sure I could say this to anyone but you. But in another way, it’s a very long time indeed.’
‘That’s it,’ I said, and he reached for my hand and squeezed it. ‘That’s it exactly. You miss the person, of course you do. That’s the part that’s fresh. But if you’re used to being married, to having someone, and then suddenly you’re alone all day and all night…’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘It gets old fast, doesn’t it?’
‘It really does. And the idea of having someone again, that closeness…’ He was still holding my hand, and his eyes were fixed on mine. I swallowed convulsively.
‘Go on,’ he said.
I made myself hold his gaze. There was no sense now in being anything but honest. ‘It’s wonderful. It’s everything I want. And it scares me. I don’t know whether I want to leap in or run away.’
